The first ultrasound was at eight weeks.
Fred held her hand, his thumb rubbing circles over her knuckles. The room was cold, the gel colder, and Tommy flinched when the technician pressed the wand low on her belly. The screen was a grainy sea of static, a formless gray ocean. Then a shape. A flutter. A second, smaller flutter, right beside it.
“Well,” the technician said, her voice carefully neutral. “There’s two in there.”
Tommy’s fingers tightened around Fred’s. Her breath stopped. Fred leaned forward, his eyes locked on the screen, on the two distinct, rhythmic pulses beating out of sync.
“Twins,” he said. The word wasn’t a question. It was a fact, settling into the room like a stone dropped into still water.
Tommy made a sound—a choked, airless thing that wasn’t a laugh or a sob. “Jesus.”
Fred brought her hand to his mouth, kissed her knuckles, the silver ring cool against his lips. His other hand stayed on her stomach, over the cold gel, as if he could already feel the double weight.
They didn’t speak in the car. Tommy stared out the passenger window, one hand resting on her lower abdomen. Fred drove with a focused stillness, his mind a white noise of calculations—bigger car, another bedroom, double everything. The possessive heat in his gut wasn’t fear. It was a fierce, swelling pride.
By twelve weeks, the subtle curve of her belly had become a firm, undeniable swell. Tommy stood in front of their bedroom mirror most mornings, wearing only her underwear, her hands tracing the new slope of her body. She’d catch Fred watching from the bed.
“It’s weird,” she said one morning, her voice quiet. “I look at myself and I don’t… recognize me. But I like her.”
Fred came up behind her, naked. He wrapped his arms around her, his palms spreading wide over the taut skin of her belly. He could feel the difference—the density, the warmth. He rested his chin on her shoulder, met her eyes in the mirror.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and his cock, already hard from sleep, pressed against the small of her back.
She leaned into him, her head tilting back against his chest. Her hand came down, her fingers wrapping around his length. She stroked him slowly, watching his face in the glass. “You like this,” she said, not a question. “The way I am now.”
“Yes.”
She turned in his arms, her swollen belly pressing between them. She kissed him, deep and slow, then sank to her knees on the carpet.
Her mouth on him was different now—slower, more deliberate. She took him deep, her tongue working the underside of his shaft, her lips creating a slick, tight seal. She used her hand at the base, twisting in time with the pull of her mouth. Fred braced a hand against the dresser, his other tangling in her hair, watching the crown of his cock disappear between her lips, again and again.
He was close, his thighs tightening, when she pulled off with a wet pop. She looked up at him, her lips swollen and glistening. “I want you inside me,” she said, her voice husky. “I need to feel you.”
He helped her up, guided her to the edge of the bed. He laid her back, pillows under her head, and knelt between her spread thighs. Her cunt was already wet, pink and swollen, the scent of her arousal thick in the air. He pushed two fingers into her, curling them, and she arched off the bed with a sharp gasp.
“So deep,” she whimpered, her hands fisting in the sheets. “Fred, please.”
He positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging her entrance. He pushed in slowly, a relentless, stretching invasion, and her mouth fell open in a silent cry. He sank to the hilt, buried in her heat, and held there, both of them trembling. Her inner walls clenched around him, a rhythmic, hungry pulse.
“You feel fuller,” he gritted out, his voice rough. “Tighter around me.”
“It’s the babies,” she breathed, her eyes glazed. “They’re making room for you.”
He began to move, a slow, deep roll of his hips that made the bedframe creak. Each thrust pressed her belly between them, a firm, living barrier. The sensation was overwhelming—the heat of her, the tight clasp of her cunt, the proof of his claim rounding her stomach. He fucked her like that for a long time, watching her face, listening to her broken moans.
When her climax hit, it was a violent, shuddering wave. Her cunt clenched around him, milking his cock, and she cried out, a raw, ragged sound that broke into a sob. The intensity of it tipped him over the edge. He drove into her one last time, deep, and came, his release pumping into her in hot, pulsing jets. He groaned, a low, animal sound, and collapsed over her, careful of her stomach, his face buried in her neck.
They lay tangled, breathing hard, his cock still nestled inside her, both of them slick with sweat. Her hands came up, stroking his back. After a minute, she whispered, “Again.”